


Jousting

by AstraKiseki



Category: Exalted
Genre: Arguing, Fourth Wall, Masturbation, Other, Raksha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstraKiseki/pseuds/AstraKiseki





	Jousting

Smoke Hands and Glass Drum knew something was quite wrong even before her beloved behemoth, the jagged shadows under her long, long tumultuous hair shrunk away, twisting the molten sand into a thousand delicate corkscrews so tight that the air crystallized it all into glass. She would have marveled at the lovely sight, the glittering mass framing her ornately painted body, a hundred snow white rings on a living weapon meant for only war, if it weren't for the strange sensation of not only being watched more than usual, beyond the invisible audience she so direly needed in order to even just survive, but something... missing, an itch behind herself. The chiming of her pet, turning its head, once, twice, three times before it hissed, looking behind her, made her turn around...   
  
And made her realize she wasn't quite alone. Wait, but no one was there...  
  
"Will you stop contradicting yourself?" Her voice rang out across the Deep Wyld, the boom of a drum making the chaos around her quiver with excitement. "It's giving me a little bit of a headache."   
  
Shit, you can hear me? The cataphract crossed her arms under her impressive bosom, glaring outward.  
  
"Yes, I can!" Smoke Hands sniffled as she peered about, her salmon-  
  
"Make them a prettier color!" I can turn them and your paint a positively vile shade of puce if you are going to be so huffy. The noble froze, her gleaming bronze eyes widening and her _bittersweet_ lips forming a perfect little 'o' of shock, realizing she was working with something not quite the norm. Now stop jousting with me so we can fix this, that way you can go off on your own story and I can go finish the other twenty-two damn fictions I have to write.  
  
"Fine." Another arrogant huff from the Fair Folk, lifting her arms just enough to give birth to the threat of a smooth breast slipping from its protecting copper plate. "So, how are we going to do this?"  
  
Something organic could patch up things and grow with it if it gets bigger, and possibly help it get smaller over time, so maybe a baby? The only problem is I have no idea on the reproductive procedures for the Fair Folk, and while yes, you are very pretty, I'm not interested. The cataphract sighed, her lower lip jutting out in a proud pout, tapping out a thoughtful, metallic melody with the drumstick in her hand.   
  
Lightly, idly, the rounded tip brushed along the edge of her armor, its Valor-born power making her shiver with anticipation. "I suppose I'll use some gossamer for this..." The raksha let out a dreamy moan as she lightly rapped against her breast, a deep, resonant bell echoing across the metal breastplate. "Such a waste though..." Her long, slender brown fingers tugged at the straps binding her Cup Grace to her body, a gasp escaping from her lips as it fell to the earth with a rhapsodic clatter.  
  
You really should kneel for better leverage. While bending over a little and sticking a phallic symbol into a more feminine cup to show off your plump ass would make the audience cheer, I'd rather you not accidentally fall on your tush after you come. Sort of ruins things, you know?  
  
The raksha mutely complied as she whirled her tongue about the silken sheath protecting the tip of her stick, her knees smoothly sinking down to flank the armor as her body quaked with lust. "Are you," Smoke Hands tugged down the cloth, laving the wooden tip with her mouth, "encouraging this?"  
  
Does it matter? Smoke Hands shook her perfectly-sculpted head, filling the air with the musical shattering of her spun hair, melting back into burning sands. One of her painted hands caressed away the fragmented strings scattered across her Cup, a lyrical moan ringing out of her lips. The cataphract's chin drooped gracefully, the fire of her hair sliding downward to lightly, lightly brush across her armor, the sensation making every nerve of her body start to shimmer with a delicious heat. The pale paint on her skin shivered across her skin in the same melodious pitch as she slowly rubbed the hard tip of her Sword around the very rim of one of the broad indentations, the white rings spiraling across her nipples, tightening them into plump peaks, down her toned belly to where a mortal woman's Cup would be.  
  
Slowly, agonizingly, the Sword's tip teased along the edge of the armor, glazing it with shimmering gossamer, feeling her own Ring Grace react by undulating across her body as if it was some sensuous serpent slick across her skin. As the silvery stuff leaked from the tip of her drumstick, Smoke Hands couldn't help moaning, the impossible liquid gathering in the depths of the twin depths of her Cup, until it was almost completely full, reflecting the Wyld around it, including the flushed noble herself.  
  
"I didn't know playing with yourself could be this fun!" She giggled drunkenly, dipping her fingertips into the swirling foam. She moaned happily as sensation rippled across her body as she flicked her fingers across the gossamer, fishing out something as her voice started to sing, high and sweet, calling out to the magic around her, pouring out her essence as her pleasure grew. As her voice grew higher, sharper, cutting the Wyld around her into pieces, her hands swirled the dreamstuff about wildly, passion stirring higher and harder in each gesture.  
  
Finally, it was too much, a crystalline crack in her voice growing into a fracture, then into a fissure that her power fell into with a titanic splash far, far too grand for such comparatively small depths, her Cup overflowing with delight, her Sword hand growing limp as she melted into a metaphorical puddle of climax. As she panted, the silk cloth covering her drum stick's tip again, she smiled, her Ring Grace, the paint on her skin, still humming pleasurably, in time with the ringing of her Cup. As the gossamer trickled outward, she pulled out a long, silvery rod from her hair's shadow, her Staff and tapped the gossamer.  
  
The Ecstatic Reproduction Style took its shape, gathering the materials she had just melted into a more tangible form, rectangles and cobblestones, a wall being made as her paint sang smugly, well aware that it was the mothering influence on this new fairy, a wall to replace the fourth somehow broken.  
  
As she smiled, that odd feeling of another set of eyes watching her, she squawked as suddenly, something smacked her right on the ass.   
  
Sorry, the voice was starting to be smaller, I had to do that, just to see before I go back, if I could actually interact. Thank you and I hope you enjoy the other shows!


End file.
